


A Golden Prize in Daddy's eyes

by merin_b



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Age Difference, All The Ships, Caretaking, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Multi, References to Depression, Social Anxiety, Threesome - F/M/M, all hail the daddys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merin_b/pseuds/merin_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's vanilla. She's spice. She's the apple of their eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweetness

**Author's Note:**

> sorry @ my parents for being a failure  
> all i do is sin  
> s i n

Cigarette stains. The faint smell of coffee mixed with cheeseburgers, still lingering inside the tiny room.

The usually everlasting bitter taste on her tongue was replaced by something else. Something more bitter, yet pleasurable to her senses. Ignorance. _Bliss_. All of it.

Her thin fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard. The sound was almost soothing, as her eyes scanned over the figures on the screen in front of her. She inhaled from the cigarette that was stuck between her lips; she doesn't bother using her fingers to pluck the cigarette away from her plumpy lips. Instead, she forced herself to continue on the task at hand; infiltrate the FIB network system, to see what they had on her and her comrades.

She'd been rolling with the big boys for a few weeks, now. If it weren't for her depression and social anxiety, she would've gone to school and get a decent degree. Hell, she might've had a steady job. One that didn't involve bloodshed and cracking the codes of the corrupt government. But, she couldn't, nor wouldn't. Hacking had been like a second nature to her from a very young age; she enjoyed solving the puzzles and riddles on a machine. She found it calming and relaxing, her fingers typing away, making tiny clacking noises to calm her nerves and racing thoughts. And if it wasn't relaxing, it was challenging.

That was what she used to think before she got involved with the crew.

There was way more at stake now. A 'simple' matter of life and death; to prevent, to gain, to _cause_. She needed those files badly; she'd been working on the current assignment for a little over 18 hours non-stop, smoking cigarettes and gulping away coffee like it was another sense to her. The only fresh air she received was from the window that was opened slightly ajar to welcome the chilly oxygen she needed.

Her eyes were red and she rubbed them occasionally to block the sleep out of her eyes that was threatening to take over.

 _Twenty-four and a mess._ Being a criminal wasn't exactly what she'd predicted her future to be, as far as this was considered ' _her future_ '; she smoked, she hacked, she drank, she fucked. Preferably with older men. Preferably with two of her comrades. She had it bad and was in heels deep, but she couldn't deny or ignore the feelings she had for them; she loved them. Very much. _Dangerously so_. She wasn't neglected by her father in her younger years or something as fucking cliché as that, no, they understood her. _Cared_ for her. Never judged her. Using the term 'in love' was quite fucked up; they were atleast twenty years older than her, and she'd yet to decide if they didn't just take advantage of her—although if that was the case, she wouldn't care either way. She just wanted someone to fuck, hold and understand her. They did. That's all she could ask for.  
Making money while doing so was just another reason to do it. She didn't care for the big scores, though. Loved the rush she got from getting shit done and getting it done good. She was hold up in a tiny rats-ass apartment that was big enough for a tiny kitchen, a couch and a coffee table. There was a seperate—again, tiny as fuck—bathroom. A small shower, a sink with a mirror and a toilet. And at last, a small bedroom.

She didn't have much as decoration in her place; she didn't go outside as much as she should, thanks to those demons in her head. Anxiety, depression, insomnia, the entire package.

Her skin was pale from the lack of sunshine. She only bothered to put on make up when she knew her boys would come over. Sometimes not even then. If she would, it was simply so they wouldn't start again about how ' _sickly_ ' she looked. _Sickly my ass_ , she mused.

When she wasn't busy with all the crap going on in her life, she would vent her feelings out on paper using fancy words that'd best describe her mood in that specific moment. Poetry, what they called it, although she scoffed at the thought of labeling her ridiculous rambling as poetic. A taste of self destruction, put out on paper in actual words. That's what it was to her.

The thoughts came crashing in; she wanted to throw her laptop out of the window, if she hadn't been so tired. " _Fuck_!" she yelled out frantically, the last few hours finally getting to her. When she looked at the clock hanging above the tiny television in front of her, she noticed it was past noon. Past noon, and she'd been up since last night after dinner. She wanted so badly to give up and sleep a little, but was afraid of those nightmares haunting her unconsciousness like usual. It wasn't worth it, thus why she would practically drink gallons of coffee and energy drink to keep herself awake and keep going.

She was just about to make another cup of coffee when her phone went off. Frowning, she reached for it on the table and looked at the callers ID.

She surpressed a moan in frustration when she saw it was Lester.

Despite her frustration, she pressed the green button to accept the call.

" _Helpdesk For Nerds Who Will Never Get Laid_ speaking, how may I assist you?"

There was a short silence at the other side. _"Heh, thought I was talking to the escort service. Must've dialed the wrong number."_

She groaned. "Cute. _Very_ cute. Seriously though, what's up?" she tried again, ignoring the urge of punching him through the phone.

_"How's the job coming along? Any progress?"_

A sigh escaped her lips. "No. Been working on it for hours, but nothing, not even a fucking _loophole_."

Frustration and defeat. Lester sensed it. They often worked together in his place to crack some codes, or to exchange valuable knowledge regarding their skill for electronica. He knew she would and was capable of doing anything to get the job done; the term _mission impossible_ was practically non-existant in her book.

 _"How long have you been awake?"_ he asked at the other side, causing her to huff loudly. "Long enough to know that you and asking questions about my wellbeing don't go together. Drop it, Lest. The next call you receive from me will be a report of succes."

With those words, she clicked the conversation away and dropped herself on the couch.

Before she had time to emotionally and physically gather herself, she heard someone knocking on the door. "For christ's sake." she muttered under her breath as she forced herself to stand up and answer it. When the door opened up, she wasn't surprised to see who was standing at the other side. "Oh _good_ god, go away." she moaned, turning around and returning to the couch, leaving the door open for him. He frowned and entered her tiny apartment, glancing around at the empty paperbags of _Burger Shot._ They were carelessly tossed around and he knew precisely what time it was for her.

To confirm his suspicions, he scanned his eyes over her figure that was bent over the laptop. Her beautiful hazel eyes were red and almost lifeless. "How long you been up, kid?" he asked worriedly, taking off his aviators and closing the front door. She looked up at him once, only to make eye contact as proof she'd heard him. A few moments of silence passed before she replied. "Long enough." she said calmly before opening the _OrangeBit_ hacking program once more.

Michael let out a sigh. "How many hours, _Elizabeth_?"

The usage of her full name made her cringe inside. She hated when people wouldn't just call her _Lizzie_ or _Liz_. Elizabeth sounded too mature for her liking; she was only in her twenties, for fucks sake.

Lizzie figured that Michael wouldn't shut up until he'd hear a number or time so he could lecture her on her bad behavior. "7 PM last night." she confessed in bare honesty, typing away again on her laptop. Michael was visibly concerned and sat down next to her.

"You been outside at all since Trevor visited you?" _Two days ago._

"No."

"What have you eaten?"

"Burgers yesterday. Nothing today."

"Fuckin' hell!" he growled, shutting the laptop closed in front of her.

"I wasn't hungry." she objected, although Michael would never let her get away with such a simply argument. "Grab your coat. We're gonna get some food, take you outside for a bit. Get some sunshine on your head. God knows you need it." he said, already standing up and preparing for the departure.

Lizzie didn't budge. " _I_ -I don't want to." she said, trying her best to hide her panic of the ouside world, especially after being isolated by herself in her tiny safehouse for so long.

Michael sensed it. He often would receive calls from her about her anxiety, sometimes in the middle of the night, when he had to close himself in in his garderobe so Amanda wouldn't hear him talking to her in his lovingly voice. He knew how to handle with it; Trevor, infact, was still learning how to deal with her state of mind.

"Hey babygirl, I'm with you. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to you. You know that." he said in his sweet, calming daddy voice, that so often helped Lizzie calm down from her breakdown. She hid her face in her palms, defeated. Lizzie knew he was right; she needed food, and fresh oxygen. But the fear was tugging inside her and threatening to explode. The thought and fear of public embarrasment caused by a panic attack was clouding her mind, causing her to ignore her bodily needs.

"I know, I just-" she stopped mid-sentence. Her mouth was already dry like a desert.

Michael sat down next to her and enclosed her in a tight embrace.

"You trust me, sweetheart? You're gonna do just fine. Take a few breaths."

She did so. He breathed along with her; he knew she liked it when he leveled with her on the aspect of her mental condition.

"Will you eat me out first?" she asked sweetly, pressing her face against his neck and inhaling his masculine scent. He smelled of cigars, whiskey and something else. The musky smell never failed to turn her on or simply comfort her in her times of need.

Michael groaned, clearly debating her question. "Tell you what, baby. You go out with me now, I'll eat you out later if you behave. Sound good?"

She felt him already harden. She loved the control she obviously had over him. Although the moment they were in the bedroom, those tides changed.

Liz knew she could be beautiful and seductive. She knew her looks could turn Michael and Trevor on by just blinking at them.

Speaking from experience.

  
"Sound good."


	2. Bitterness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> srry for the late update. this one is kinda long i guess, to make it up. thanks for the positive feedback. trying my best not to make liz sound like a white tumblr grunge girl but yknow. . . . happens. anyway,, enjoy!! TW: suicidal reference, hints to mental illness

The short walk to his car was furfilled in complete silence. Michael buzzed open the car doors with his keys and got in at the drivers side. Liz followed his example, though getting in at the other side. Once they were seated they both buckled their seatbelts.

On their way to wherever Michael was driving them to, Lizzie looked out of the window in silence, surveying the surrounding areas and eyes scanning the inhabitants of Los Santos. Occasionally, she let out a sigh or rolled her eyes at the obvious hipsters and hippies. _The weaker individuals of the human race_ , she mocked in thought, reaching for the pack of cigarettes that was tucked inside her jacket.

Michael tapped on the steering wheel, along with the rhythym of a random tune. Lizzie found his musical taste rather appealing, and wondered why his wife saw him as such a pain in the ass; the man had class and style, his love and utter fascination for old movies and music never ceased to amaze her.

And _fuck_ , if he didn't look damn gorgeous and straight up sexy in those suits of his. 

It was her weakness; to see him, wearing the state of his financial luxury for the world to see. Heart on his sleeve. She often teased him about it.

Lizzie lit the cigarette between her lips and inhaled deeply, putting the lighter back in the pocket of her jacket, along with the pack of Redwood smokes.

Puffing out the smoke, she relaxed back into the leather seat. Michael hummed along softly, although his facial expression suddenly turned to utter disgust after sensing the smoke. When he looked at her, he seemed to be shaken out his happy mood instantly; instead, his brows furrowed in frustration.

" _Jesus_ fuckin' _christ_ , don't smoke in my goddamn car, you punk ass _hipster_."

Before she could reply, he'd opened the window on his side and plucked the cigarette from her mouth. He carelessly threw it out on the streets and closed the window again. "Me? A _hipster_? Says the guy with his secret compartment in his garderobe, _specifically_ used to store his _expensive_ ass _aviators_!"

Michael ignored her, but clacked his tongue in disapproval of her unhealthy habit.

"Oh quit whinin', grand pa."

"You never complain when I'm screwin' you in all those flexible positions. You younglings are never satisfied, _fuck_ me."

" _Gladly_. But you promised me lunch first, remember?"

He casted a side glance at her, his frustration quickly faltering into a playful smirk. "You name it, sweetheart. Whatever you want. Hell, I'd give you my entire _estate_ , if you'd be happy."

Liz realized his last words had a different tone behind them; he cared. The fact that he genuinely cared for her and her wellbeing made him even more attractive to her. And _goddamnit_ , if he wasn't driving through the hectic traffic of Los Santos right now and didn't have to focus, she'd be on his lap in an instant, kissing him until they both had to gasp for air, carrying on the taste of smoke over to his tongue. They loved to kiss like that; needy, like the cigarettes she smoked and their mutually shared desire for (self) destruction.

Nevertheless her strong emotions, she remained silent, only focussing on the people on the sidewalk and the buildings surrounding them.

Suddenly though, a thought popped up inside her mind. "You complain about me smoking, yet _you_ smoke those terrible crusty ass cigars _yourself_. Care to explain?"

Michael scoffed and shook his head. "You the one handin' out advice now?" he mocked, though Liz could spot the playfulness behind his eyes. Michael cleared his throat before continuing. "You said it yourself, sweetness. Quote, ' _you're old, you're dying and you're doin' anything that makes your sorry ass feel better_.' something like that."

Lizzie chuckled. Michael visibly enjoyed the sound of her laughter, even if the happy state of mind only lasted for a few seconds; those moments were rare. He was lucky to be the cause of it, nine out of ten times.

"I also called you a dried out cun-" "Alright, alright—we all get it. Now _shut_ up."

The rest of their journey was completed in silence. Once they reached a random lunch café, Michael drove into the parking lot and pulled his car inside the white markings. He pulled the key out of the ignition and looked at Lizzie, almost waiting for her to say something. It was something he often did; encouraging her to speak her mind, unlike Trevor, who rather just kept the silence filled.

The difference between them; Lizzie didn't like silence. Nor did she like to complain. With Trevor, she'd made it clear that she wanted him to keep her distracted. To keep her mind occupied and elsewhere than the living hell inside her head. She didn't want to talk.

But she _needed_ to. No matter how much she disliked it. It was the only way of dealing with the madness inside, after all.

Talking was the medicine. A cliché-as-fuck quote, but oh so true.

That's exactly where Michael would come in. Fuck, after all those bitter years of being in therapy himself, he'd certainly gained the knowledge regarding a healthy state of mind. And yet, he, _too_ , continued to walk down his self-destructive path; things were fucked up with his family, and he was still getting into trouble with his squad.

Although, he wouldn't have met this remarkable, brave and inspiring woman that was currently sitting next to him. The woman fighting off demons because she was born with them, rather than getting them from a problematic or traumatic event. She'd told him that her entire family had been a bunch of fuck-ups, and she'd inherited all those shitty genetics. He didn't fully believe her—there must've been some events that triggered the activation of those 'shitty genetics', but he granted her the time to process. Eventually, she would talk. Or he'd find a way to get her to talk.

Jesus, he was a fool for her. Would go through fire for her. Probably take a few bullets, too. She was more interesting than Amanda had ever been and she always fascinated him. Knew how to make him longing for her, for him to get to know each little piece of thought inside her pretty mind.

"This is the part where we get out of the car." he offered dryly, although he meant it teasingly. She sensed it and let out a huff. "No shit, _sherlock_. I just. Just give me a minute, okay?"

Michael nodded. "Take as long as you need, sweetheart." he offered in reply, reaching for her thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Easier said than done, a minute quickly turned into five minutes. He didn't lose his patience, though; Michael had a temper, but never for her. It took long enough to take down those walls surrounding the empire of doom that was built inside her mind; she'd forged it carefully with iron, but he'd taken it down carefully, brick by brick. A long but rewarding process.

"Can't you just go and fetch some food, and we.. could eat it inside the car?" she suggest, rather to save her own skin and to spare her the horrifying experience of being out in the wide and open for the world to see. Michael didn't budge, however, and took his aviators from the inside of his jacket. "No can do, kiddo. You're gonna go outside, and I'm comin' with you, whether you like it or not." he said calmly, as he shoved the glasses up his nose. Now that his expression was shielded, Liz had a hard time reading him.

She sighed. "Yeah, I assumed as much." she replied. The words hung heavily in the air as she tried to mentally brace herself for the Los Santos world; sunshine and sparkles, giggles and small talks, gossip and fame. It nearly made her want to vomit out of pure disgust, but she managed to surpress the feeling as she eyed the lunch café. " _Why must you make me suffer_.." she whispered to herself while looking at the people sitting outside and enjoying their lunch in the warm sunlight, like any other normal human being.

"You know why. It's 'cause I care about you."

She thought he hadn't heard it; it wasn't her intention to let him hear her silent whisper, a plead perhaps. Regardless, she enjoyed hearing it; although she would never care to admit.

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Climb outta my _ass_ old man, again with the feelsy talk." she mused sarcastically before opening the car door and getting outside.

Once her feet touched the ground, she knew there was no going back from this point forward.

Lizzie managed to take her hoodie out from inside her leather jacket and pulled it over her face, as some sort of protection. It made her appearance outside bearable, for the time being. Michael immediately grunted something under his breath, nevertheless followed her closeby, his hand hovering over her small back as to guide her to the place of destination. It somehow seemed like the scene of a sugar daddy leading a junky forward, but deep inside she knew Michael didn't care if she looked like a homeless rat or not. It didn't affect his behavior towards her, to her relief.

"What do you want?" Michael asked promptly, looking at her through the dark colored glass covering his eyes. Liz grinned micheaviously.

"Your coc-"

"What. Kind. Of. _Sandwich_."

Lizzie covered her mouth in the palm of her hands, trying her best not to laugh at his facial expression; Michael looked around, to make sure noone had heard the profanity aimed towards the older gentleman. Those who _did_ look at him for raising his voice, he offered a reassuring and charming smile.

It looked forced.

And _hilarious_.

"I don't care, I'll have whatever you're having. And coffee."

"Fantastic. Pick a seat, somewhere. Out of the sun." he said, before vanishing behind the glass doors of the café. Lizzie sighed in frustration and followed his orders.

A few minutes passed. Lizzie took her phone out of her jacket and noticed a few unopened messages and e-mails. The e-mails were from father, as per usual, asking her where she's been and what she's been doing. Asking if she'd like to come over and have dinner with him and his so newly called wife. She hadn't attended the wedding; she hated the woman, with an inner passion. The bitch was mentally and emotionally abusing her father and he was too head over heels for him to see. Financially, living off the costs of her dead mother's insurance, who had committed suicide eight years ago, when Liz had only been sixteen. _Demons run in the family, clearly._

 _No_. No contact with her father. He knew she was alive and doing _something_ , but other than that, nothing. Her younger brother of eighteen was living with them, attending university to major in History. Marc simply didn't have the money to live on his own, which was quite understandable to Lizzie. She didn't blame him. They barely had contact, aside from the occasional 'likes' given through _Life Invader._

The other side of her family was scattered like ashes through the wind; the last she'd seen them, they were all at her mother's funeral, wishing her strength and courage in these hard times. 

_'Your mother was a good woman. A strong woman. She fought for so long.'_

As if she didn't know.

Lizzie selected the emails and moved them to a different e-mail map called ' _dad_ '; a secret sanctuary where all proof of contact was savely stored, just in case. In case she felt miserable, and was bothered enough to read them. Right now, they had to wait. The present was already hard enough as it was, with figuring her life out and whatnot.

Lizzie tucked her brown hair inside her hood and reached for a new cigarette. After she succeeded into putting it on, she put it between her lips and focused on the unread text messages. She wasn't surprised to see they were from Trevor.

A sigh escaped her lips. _Of course._ She forgot to text him.

  --------------------------------  

**4 UNREAD TEXT MESSAGES**

**FROM: TREVOR**

    --------------------------------    

Annoyed and curious at the same time, she opened the messages. She prepared herself for the worst.

 --------------------------------    

 **RECEIVED: WED - 01:43 AM** \- _Two hours after he'd left her_

\--------------------------------

**Hi BB gurl, how r U doin ? R U safe @ home?? How's t job goin. Let Me know.**

**luv U,**

**Trev**.

\--------------------------------

Rolling her eyes, she skipped to the next one.

\--------------------------------

**RECEIVED: WED - 10:05 AM**

\--------------------------------

**U were sppsed 2 Text me when U got Home Liz. R U alright ? I cn come pick U up if U dont like LS. U R always welcom in SS sweetheart.**

**B safe,**

**Trev**

\--------------------------------

**RECEIVED: WED - 18:40**

\--------------------------------

**M aint Pickin up his phone. WTF s goin on???????**

**Trev**

\--------------------------------

**RECEIVED: THUR - 02:34**

\--------------------------------

 **ELIZABeTH** ,

**IF SMTHINGS HAPPND TO U I WILL FLAY MICHAEL ND THE ENTIRE CITY LS . IF U DON T REPLY IN 16 HRS I WILL COME TO FIND U.**

\-------------------------------

" _Jesus_ fucking _christ_!" she yelled out in utter frustration and impotence, already realizing fourteen hours of his so-called franctic threat- _deal_ had passed. She didn't underestimate his words about flaying the entirety of Los Santos—Michael included. Quickly, she reached for the ashtray on the table in front of her and put down her cigarette so she could type properly.

\-------------------------------

**NEW TEXT MESSAGE**

TO: **TREVOR**

\-------------------------------

**trevor. please, calm. down.**

**everything is fine. please dont do anything rash**

\-------------------------------

Right away after finishing those words, she hit send, deciding it was best to text him once more to explain herself fully; it wasn't completely off the table that Trevor's paranoia would get the best of him and he'd see it as a 'typical kidnap  _everything-is-fine_ text'. Hell, he'd probably be here sooner than those sixteen hours; knowing him, it wouldn't be a surprise to her if he was already on his way to Los Santos.

She opened a new text.

\-------------------------------

**NEW TEXT MESSAGE**

**TO** : **TREVOR**

\-------------------------------

**look, im sorry for not texting right away. i shouldve done it immediately. it was stupid of me, but i can handle myself. sort of. im a big gal, remember?**

**ive been busy with the job. cant get the fucking shit to crack. been working on it for hours.**

**please stop worrying - mike's with me. he's getting us lunch. when he comes back i'll tell him to check his phone more often.**

**be safe, stay out of trouble. not that you ever listen to me. i guess what im trying to say is, dont get in the shit heads deep if you cant get out.**

**love you x**

\-------------------------------

Finally, she repeated the process of sending the text. As soon as it was done, she locked her phone again and put it on the table. She realized she felt more than one pair of eyes resting on her—most likely due to her little outburst earlier. To keep herself busy (as if she didn't feel the people lurking at her), she returned her attention to her cigarette and inhaled deeply.

Michael finally reappeared at her table. A sound of plastic dropping the table was his way to announce his presence, and when she looked up at him, she wanted to yell at him.

It was a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice. Or, that's what the sticker on the front told them. In truth, she didn't trust all those new 'bio' campaigns for shit. 

" _Orange juice_." she stated dryly out loud. Michael grinned at her. "And a chicken sandwich." he added teasingly as he handed her her package. Not knowing what he was getting at, she bit her lower lip and closed her eyes in defeat. "The only thing I specifically asked for, was _coffee_."

The man opposite of her simply shrugged with that smug face of his. "You need to lay down the caffeine, kiddo. It'll do you no good. 'Sides, you're young, and supposed to be energetic."

_Energetic, my ass._

Before she could possibly threaten him into submission to fetch her a coffee, he put a take away cup in front of her, which he'd apparently been hiding from her behind his back. "2 sugars, no milk, just how you like 'em. You really think I have a deathwish?" he teased before unwrapping his sandwich. Liz followed his example and shrugged. ' _Self destructive_.' she mouthed to him in silence with a cheesy grin, which made Michael laugh quietly on his behalf. "Might be so, but not up to the point where I'd be chopped into pieces and pushed into a fridge over a cup of coffee. If not you, It'd be T." Lizzie smiled. _Sounded about right._

"Speaking of, you heard from him at all?"

Lizzie chewed away a mouthful of her chicken sandwich. She had to admit, it tasted good; the everlasting ignorance of her hunger had exhausted her more than she realized. Once again, Michael had been right about getting food. Perhaps she would be able to focus more now, too.

"Yeah," she mumbled after swallowing her food. "You need to check your phone more regulary. He nearly lost his shit because I forgot to text him."

Michael scoffed and shrugged. " _Figures_."

They both returned their attention to their lunch.

"Hey Michael?"

" _Hm_?"

"How's the family?"

"Shut up and eat your damn sandwich, kid."


	3. Saltiness

Somehow his warm hands had managed to snake their way down her torso. She enjoyed and welcomed the touch; her thoughts drifted away from the madness that usually plagued her o-so busy mind. His fingertips were sending electricy spikes down her nerves and she moaned in delight.

  
Michael took the opportunity to gently push his tongue inside her mouth, as if they both depended on eachothers kisses in that very moment. He was getting needy; she lived for the control. Selfish, she thought to herself, whilst cupping his stubby cheek.

_I'm selfish for wanting his marriage to end badly, so he'll keep coming back to me, just to hold me like this._

  
Liz broke off the kiss with a loud gasp. "We just gonna make out like a bunch of 16 year olds in the back of your car like its 1992?" she asked rheteorically, snorting from amusement when she saw the bewildered look on Michael's face.  
It was cramped in his car. The rain tapped softly against the window; they were parked behind Liz apartment. "You got somethin' against the 90's culture, kiddo?" was all he managed to snap back at her with a grin. Lizzie scoffed. " _Please_ , I secretly know you love this romance-novel shit. What I meant to say was, my apartment is right across the fucking street. It has room and such."  
He took her answer in consideration before finally nodding in agreement. "A'ight. Let's go."

  
Liz opened the car door and stepped outside. The rain stroked her cheeks softly as she closed her side of the car and moved towards the crossing with Michael behind her. They walked in silence crossing the road, side by side. Lizzie fished her housekey out of the inside of her jacket and walked up the stairs that led to the first floor.  
The apartment lot she lived in looked disgusting; a lot of occupants were broke and didn't bother to keep their places tidied. Empty beer bottles and cigarette packs were scattered nearby their front doors and balconies, abandoned broken summer chairs were left on the once empty green grass. A filthy barbeque resided in the front yard.

  
_A shit hole._

  
Could she blame the people, though? She chose the place herself, after all. Late at night, she was glad to hear the couple next door shouting and throwing shit at eachother. She enjoyed the bunch of guys living above her own apartment because their music was too loud and so was their laughter, but she never felt like the only person in this building; a bliss to her insomniac mind. It kept her paranoia of being the only one left in the world at bay.

It only bothered Trevor.

  
Luckily, the boys above her floor knew to keep it down, as soon they heard his loud Bodhi pull up the driveway to stay the night.

  
"How the fuck can you live here, Lizzie? Why not just move to a nicer place instead?"  
Michael's voice grappled her back to reality and she spun around to face him. "Why? Sit in a mansion on a bunch of rocks so everyone can see how miserable I truly am?" she replied bitterly, somehow feeling insulted. This shithole was her home after all. It wouldn't be the first time someone persuaded her to move to a place differently.  
Her words seemed to have hit him right where she wanted to. It didn't matter if Amanda or his children told him he was a useless shitbag - but when she did, it hit home.  
"Fuck- I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Let's just-" " _No_ , you're right. Why be pretentious when you can just suffer in silence, right?"  
Liz rolled her eyes and fondled with the set of keys in her hands. _Whatever_. "For godsake, I said I'm sorry Michael. Don't make it such a big fucking deal." she retorted, adverting his gaze as she looked at the abandoned blow up pelican in the yard. _Fucking Los Santos. I fucking hate you._

  
"Forget it, kid. Let's go inside before we get drenched."

  
She was compelled to follow his instructions as the rain started to fall faster and in heavier loads. Once she reached her front door she pushed the key into the lock and turned it sideways. "Mi shithole is zu shithole." Lizzie mumbled, gesturing inside so MIchael could go inside first. He scoffed and muttered something under his breath as he passed her by the small doorway.  
It was still warm inside, regardless of the window being left open. Elizabeth took a peek at her table and felt the heat rise up to her cheeks. "Fuck! Shit fuck shit." she exclaimed, running to get the paperwork out of the rain thanks to the open window. "God-fucking- _damnit_." she growled, knowing a part of her workfiles were now drenched and pretty much unusable.

  
Michael turned around from where he was putting his jacket on the wardrobe hanger. "Print a new one." he stated dryly before resuming his task, causing Lizzie to flip him off to his back without him noticing. "They are officially marked, dickbag. I can't reprint that." she replied matter-of-factly before tossing them aside on the couch. "Anyway. You gonna finish what you started in the car or what?" she added innocently, causing Michael to turn around to look at her with raised eyebrows. He cleared his throat and smirked playfully at her. "Dunno sweetheart, you might have to refresh my memory. What was it again that we did in the car?"

  
The words had barely escaped his mouth; she was on him in an instant. _Who the fuck am I kidding, I'm the needy bitch here._

  
It didn't catch him offguard, though. Far from it, infact; he welcomed her with open arms, keeping her steady as they leeched off their passion from eachother with their lips pressed to one another. "I oughtta punish you for talkin' shit about me like you did." Michael gasped, his cheeks slightly red and his already erect cock pressing against her lower abdomen through their pants.  
Lizzie grinned. "Maybe you should." she replied, not giving him any fuel to his flame to see if his would burn her eventually.

  
It did. The grip on the back of her neck tightened, one of them went up to her hair and gave it a tight pull.  
"Should tie you the fuck up and give that mouth of yours somethin' else to do besides talkin' shit about lil' old me, huh? Spank the fuck outta you. I know you like that shit, sweetheart."  
His words ignited her like she expected them to; her little gasps became louder and her cheeks were flushed with want.  
"I love it when you fuckin' take my cock in your mouth with those puppy eyes of yo-"

  
Loud ringing interrupted their moment of desire and they both startled in their movements. Lizzie sighed loudly, merely watching as Michael took out his phone from his pocket. One glance at his phone screen confirmed her suspicions. "Sweetheart, I gotta take this one." _fucking Amanda._  
Lizzie rolled her eyes and stepped back from his grasp. " **Fine**." she retorted stubbornly, marching loudly towards her bedroom like a 12 year old. His voice could be heard from the paper thin walls; Amanda needed help with shopping. Carrying her shit, she mused in thought as she undressed. She wrestled herself out of her current outfit and put on high knee socks and an oversized shirt, just to taunt Michael. She let down her long auburn locks and started applying make up when the bedroom door opened.

  
"Listen baby, I gotta roll- _shit_."

  
She tiptoed in front of the mirror and leant forward, applying mascara with an unbothered look on her face. "You gotta go? Hmm.. _Shame_. I get it though, no hard feelin's."

  
Michael visibly gulped down his pent up sexual frustration. "You fuckin' _minx_." he growled, coming up behind her and ready to grab her hips. Lizzie slapped his hands away. "Your wife demands your attention, mister DeSanta. You better comply." she said, somewhat hurt as she continued to finish her eyeliner and went on to apply liquid lipstick.

  
The man behind her seemed to get the hint. "Stop bein' so fucking childish, Elizabeth. I will be back later when you got your head on straight. Don't do anything stupid." he muttered before softly hugging her and planting a kiss to her forehead.  
When he let go and left the bedroom, she allowed herself to exhale overdramatically before resuming her task to make herself up. For what reason she was doing what she was doing she didn't know, but she was sick of feeling like a kicked puppy. _Get your shit together_ , Liz mused, after hearing the front door closed which confirmed that Michael had truly left her alone.

  
With no plans left or whatsoever, Liz moved to the living room and started gathering all the filthy paper take-away bags.

  
But not before turning on her speaker. _Gimme More_ started playing and she started dancing along sensually, her hips swaying as she dropped low to pick an empty can of coke off the ground. Without a care in the world, she put the volume even higher and mumbled the words softly.

  
She felt productive for once; it really helped that Michael had taken her outside after all. She continued to clean for another 20 minutes before she heard loud pounding on the front door.  
Somehow it felt wrong.

  
Immediately she retracted her hands from the broom she'd been holding and tiptoed to the bedroom.  
The pounding grew louder.

  
Liz opened the drawer of her desk and opened a small box which held her glock 33—a present from Michael. She loaded it with trembling hands and fondled with the safety before moving back towards the living room, where _Glamorous_ was blasting through the speaker.

  
Get it together, Elizabeth.

  
Quietly, she tiptoed towards the front door and opened it, ready to shoot the tresspasser or whoever was waiting on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o-oh... who's behind the door?


End file.
